


Committed

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-13
Updated: 2000-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop





	Committed

"Blair?"

Blair pushed his hair back as he lifted his head from the computer monitor. A tall attractive red-haired woman was smiling shyly at him. He hastily shut the laptop and moved it onto the seat next to him. "Carolyn?" he said, standing to take her outstretched hand. "My god, how long's it been?"

She smiled more broadly. "I hate questions that are answered in years," she said, and they stood smiling at each other for a few seconds. Then Blair dropped her hand and starting packing away the laptop.

"Here, have a seat," he grunted, bent over the case as he stowed the computer and cords. She pulled her rolling luggage a bit closer and sat next to him, watching him work. Finally, he zipped the case closed and pushed it nearly under his seat, where he could rest his ankles on it. "There." He sat up straight.

"So."

"So. Why are you here?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "I'm supposed to be on my way to Chicago."

"Flying United, eh?"

She shook her head ruefully. "Why are you here?"

"Supposed to be going home. Also United." They exchanged commiserating looks. "Between the pilots' slow-down and the weather, I guess it'll be a while."

"Yeah. Yeah, they're down to one runway till this fog lifts a bit." They both looked out the enormous windows. A United Shuttle sat disconsolately just outside; beyond it, they could see the gunmetal gray fog lying like a thick blanket of curdling cream over the entire region.

"What time were you supposed to leave for Chicago?"

"Ten." It was now eleven forty. "You?"

"Right now, but --" and Blair gestured at the small sign behind the gate. It read "Flight delayed." "Nobody knows anything, either."

"They never do," Carolyn sighed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, a bit awkward. Then they spoke simultaneously.

"How's the job?"

"How's Jim?"

They laughed and Blair gestured for her to speak. "How's Jim?" she asked again.

He nodded, feeling himself blush slightly. "Good. Real good."

"You still living at the loft?" He nodded. "So you guys have been together, what, five years now?"

Blair was embarrassed by his body's response to such an innocent question. He felt his blush heighten and an uncontrollable smile take hold of his face. "Uh, five in April, yeah."

There was a moment of silence, not too awkward, and then Carolyn said softly, "I heard you're a cop now."

"Yeah." He laughed shortly, looking away. "Well, Simon and Jim, you know . . ." His voice trailed away.

"Blair, you, I never thought." He looked at her curiously; she was blushing now, her eyes glancing around the crowded gate. Almost whispering, she said, "I never thought you lied."

"Wow, Carolyn. You know I did --"

"Blair. It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I'm just telling you my opinion." They stared at each other again and finally Blair nodded.

"Okay. Uh, thanks." She nodded, too.

Another silence. After all, Blair thought, we're not really friends. Just acquaintances who used to work together. Very briefly.

His stomach growled. He put a hand over it, and Carolyn laughed. "Wanna get some lunch? We can sit near the monitors, keep track of the flights."

"Yeah, I could eat. The Crab Pot?"

She raised her eyebrows. "It's expensive."

"Yeah, but they make good clam chowder and I'm really hungry. If I'm gonna be stuck in this stupid airport, at least I can treat myself to a decent lunch. My treat," he added quickly, gesturing toward her.

"Dutch treat," she said firmly, "but clam chowder does sound good on a miserable day like this."

He grabbed the computer case and his duffel bag while she rolled her little suitcase back and extended its handle. "Those are really nice," he said, to make conversation.

"Yeah." They started walking toward the restaurant. "It was a good buy. Found it at Costco." She eyed it speculatively. "Kind of girly, though, you know?"

He cracked up at that. "Yeah. Real guys don't roll their suitcases." She elbowed him, and that familiar gesture made him laugh harder. "Well, you started it. 'Girly.' What's that mean anyway?"

"You know. Just, something only women use."

"Like tampax?" That made her laugh.

"Jesus, Blair." She sounded mildly shocked, but mostly entertained, and Blair thought he had some insight into Carolyn's appeal to Jim. He raised his eyebrows at her and she laughed again. Yeah, he could definitely see the appeal.

"Lunch for two?" the hostess asked them, and then led them to a booth at a window.

"Can you see a monitor?" Carolyn asked before she sat down. Blair peered out the window and the hostess pointed back behind them.

"Kind of. We'll have to get up and check it."

Carolyn slid into the booth. "Okay." She took the menu handed her and flipped it open. "Decaf, please, with cream."

"Same," Blair said, plopping his computer case in first and then sitting next to it.

"Here it is," Carolyn said. "Clam chowder. God, that sounds good. I'm getting a bowl of it and a small salad."

Blair closed his menu. "Ditto." They stared at each other across the table. "I have to admit, Carolyn," he finally said. "I never imagined I'd ever have lunch with you."

"Me, either," she admitted. "Although I don't know why. You were clearly good at whatever it was you were doing back then, and don't tell me," she added quickly when he opened his mouth. "And, of course, you're a good-looking man." His eyebrows climbed. "Well, you are."

"Thank you. Uh, you're a beautiful woman, Carolyn. I'm sorry we didn't get to know each other before you left." She shrugged.

Their coffee arrived and as they doctored it, they gave their lunch order. After a few minutes, they were left alone again.

"So," she said smiling at him over her coffee. "You think I'm beautiful. Why do you suppose Jim left me then?"

"Jim left you? I always assumed it was the other way around."

"That I left him? Well, technically I guess I did. I mean, I was the one who moved out of the loft. But he'd left me months before."

"You mean he'd left you emotionally."

"Another girly thing."

"No, no," Blair protested. "Not at all. I can see that in Jim. He can be kind of, uh, distant."

"Yeah, like in China."

"Or Peru."

"Yeah." She took another careful sip of the hot coffee. "Like Peru." She set the mug down and looked at Blair. "Is it a form of post-traumatic stress? Why does he do that -- get so removed?"

Blair sipped at his own coffee, trying to decide how to answer. "Maybe. I think so. But I'm not a psychologist."

"Yeah, I know. You're a cop." Something in Carolyn's voice made him look up from the tabletop. "I've heard about your and Jim's solve rate. Highest in the Pacific Northwest. You guys are quite a team." He nodded warily. "It's okay, Blair. Really, I'm not asking anything."

"But you want to."

"Hell, yes," she returned vigorously. "Jim and I were married for less than two years. You two have been together for nearly five -- that's more than twice as long. I'm frankly quite curious."

Just then their salads arrived, and Blair happily took advantage of the opportunity to do something else for a few minutes. He peppered the lettuce, sliced the tomato and cucumber, and then tossed the little salad carefully, aware that Carolyn was watching him. Finally he set down the knife and fork. "What?"

"Are you two lovers?"

"Carolyn." Blair glanced around, but it was a crowded and noisy restaurant. And, he reminded himself, he was in San Francisco. Things were different here. Maybe. "Would that matter?" he asked cautiously.

She pursed her lips, then shook her head. "No. No, in fact, I think I'd find it a relief." At his look, she continued, "I mean, because then I'd know it wasn't me. That nothing I could have done would ever have been enough."

He nodded, relaxing a bit. "Jim and I are -- together," he finally said, and stuffed some lettuce into his mouth.

She smiled. "Actually, I already knew. Simon told me."

He choked, and swallowed some water. "Simon?"

"Yeah. He says it's been a couple years."

"Simon knows?"

"Blair, he was a detective before he made captain."

Blair rolled his head back, trying to relax the suddenly tense muscles in his neck. "Simon. Jesus. Wait'll I tell Jim."

"It's okay," Carolyn said comfortingly, starting to eat her own salad. "He was delighted. Said Jim calmed the fuck right down." She glanced up mischievously and said through a mouthful of salad, "Guess he just needed to get laid on a regular basis."

Blair thought his face must be the color of the tomato in their salads.

"Anyway," she continued, "I'm happy for both of you. I have a feeling this is the real deal for Jim. So you," she added more seriously, pointing her fork at Blair, "you just take care of my ex, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, still a bit in shock.

"Good." They ate in silence for a bit, Carolyn with gusto and Blair in quiet contemplation. "You finish your salad; I'll go look at the monitor." She slipped out of the booth but was back in less than a minute. "Still says delayed," she sighed, and waved at the waitress for more coffee.

"Are you happy?" she suddenly asked him.

"Yes, very," he answered immediately, and felt that smile on his face again.

"I can tell." Their soup arrived, necessitating more fussing with pepper and crackers. Then: "Do you think Jim is happy?"

"I think so, Carolyn, but you'd have to ask him."

"You're a detective. An intelligent man. Tell me, why do you think he's happy?"

Blair shook his head a bit, then said, "Well, I think we're a good team. We were friends for a long time, you know, before anything, uh, anything else. So we have that friendship to fall back on when things get a bit rough. And he trusts me." And aren't they the most beautiful words in the English language? he thought to himself. Jim Ellison trusts me. The only thing better than that is: Jim Ellison loves me. He smiled again.

"Well, *you* look happy," Carolyn said, but she mostly sounded happy for him.

"Yeah, I am," he said, deciding to answer her honestly. "Jim gave me a home, you know? My first real home. And he became my best friend. I had a lot of friends and a ton of acquaintances, but nobody who was there for me in the middle of the night, or when I got sick, or who worried about me. Got angry at me," and goddamn, but there was that smile again. So much for his poker face.

"Are you guys, uh, monogamous?"

Blair looked at her. "You were with Jim. What do you think?"

"Oh, yeah. He'd have your ass if you even looked at someone else."

"Got that right."

"Jealous?"

"Insecure."

"Don't I know it." Blair couldn't believe they were laughing over shared memories of Jim-as-significant-other.

"Hey, Caro, did he have house rules when you lived with him?"

"You mean like don't flush after ten, put the leftovers in Tupperware?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. God forbid I should violate one of the Ten Commandments of the Loft. But it was okay, really. He was just -- sensitive."

Blair gave a short bark of laughter. "The most sensitive man in America," he muttered, and Carolyn laughed now. She leaned across the table and said sotto voce,

"He still fart in his sleep?"

Blair dissolved into laughter, nearly spilling his soup. "Well, not all the time," he finally was able to say.

"Wonderburger," Carolyn said darkly, and Blair nodded in agreement.

"I forbid him to eat there more than once a week, but --"

"But you can always tell!" They smiled at each other, real affection in their faces.

"Jesus, Carolyn. We shouldn't be doing this."

"What, dishing? Too girly?"

"No, I mean, I was an anthropologist. What is anthropology but ritualized gossip? Instead of gossiping about a person, anthropologists gossip about entire cultures. But it just seems a bit disloyal."

She nodded. "You're right, of course. And since you have to face him tonight . . ."

"I wish." He sighed, and glanced at his watch. "My flight should have left an hour ago. I'd be halfway home by now."

And I really want to be home, he thought. In the loft. Jim on the couch watching tv while I read, my legs across his lap. He sighed.

"What're you thinking of?"

"Jim. Being with him. I miss him. I've been here at a conference for almost a week. We called every night, and emailed each other all the time, but it's just not the same."

She stared at him. "You are so fucking lucky," she finally said. "To have someone. I still haven't found anyone. I'm in my forties and still alone." She gulped her water. "It sucks."

"I'm sorry, Carolyn --" but she waved a hand at him.

"Forget it. I just get maudlin. It's hard to be a middle-aged woman living alone in San Francisco, you know? All these fucking dot com bazillionaires, but they work twenty hours a day, or else these bike messenger assholes popping E. And of course," and she toasted Blair with her water glass, "all the gay men. All the good ones are gay or married. Or both."

Blair was a little shocked by his reaction to her comments. I'm not gay, was his first thought, but of course, living with Jim in a sexually-active, monogamous relationship kind of put the lie to that protest. I work hard, too, but that was irrelevant. I was lonely for almost my entire life: ditto. And, most unkindly, You had Jim and you lost him.

But of course he couldn't say any of those things. At last he said, "I'm sorry, Carolyn."

She waved at the waitress. "A vodka martini, up. With two olives." She looked a bit defiantly at Blair. "I'm not driving."

He held up his hands. "Be my guest. But I didn't mean to drive you to drink."

"It isn't you, Blair. You know that. I'm just unhappy in my life, and comfortable enough with you to be honest. Don't tell Jim, though, would you?"

"I'll have to tell him I saw you. And he'll ask how you are. What should I say?"

She shrugged. "Tell him the truth. Tell him I miss him. That I wish we'd worked out. But that I haven't a clue what I should have done differently." She looked sharply at Blair. "What do you do?"

Blair felt a little lost at the turn of the conversation, and made a puzzled face.

"To keep him happy. When he gets depressed and silent and sullen. Or when he does that weird staring-off-into-space thing."

Zoning, Blair thought. Oh my god, he was zoning before his senses came back online. "I don't know, Carolyn." He decided to think about her questions, though. "To keep him happy? Keep him busy, I guess. He complains that he works all the time, but I've noticed he's much happier when he's busy. So there's always some project to do. Fixing up the loft. We volunteer at a homeless shelter. Play basketball. Stuff like that.

"When he gets depressed? Well, I watch his diet. I noticed a lot of his mood swings seem to be diet-related; he has a lot of allergies and sensitivities, so diet helps. For somebody who takes such good care of his body, he'll eat any old shit." Carolyn was nodding, a slight smile on her pretty lips.

"Uh, when he gets depressed, I make sure he gets out. Go for a drive, take him to the beach so he can surf." Make love, he added to himself, and was shocked when Carolyn said,

"Have sex." He raised his eyebrows again. "I found that out early on. If I could get him in bed, he'd feel better. What's the opposite of post-coital tristesse?"

Blair blushed slightly, but nodded. "Yeah, I, uh, made that discovery myself." Carolyn studied him speculatively but said nothing.

Suddenly, she said, "Oh, hey, check the boards, would you?" So Blair dashed out of the restaurant, but both his flight to Cascade and hers to Chicago will still listed as delayed. He shrugged when he returned, and she took a big sip of her martini.

Blair scooped the last of his chowder out and licked the spoon, then set it down sadly. "That was good."

"Have some more. Or have some dessert. I'm going to."

He made a face. "Dessert and a martini?"

"Martinis are very au courant here in San Francisco."

"A sign of sophistication."

"Indubitably." But she stumbled over the word and giggled. Greatly daring, Blair took the tall glass from her and sipped.

"Yuck."

"Yeah, I know. But I think of it as medicine."

"Oh, Carolyn." They stared at each other. They she waved again at the hostess.

"Your dessert menu?"

"I'm sorry," Blair began, but she shushed him, studying the little menu.

"Chocolate decadence, I think. You getting any?"

What the hell. He opened the menu and saw pictures of beautiful confections, drizzled with raspberry sauce or lemon curd or chocolate curls. "Hey, they have tiramisu." Carolyn quickly ordered and then held out her martini to Blair. He twisted his mouth in a smile, but took a sip. "Medicine, hunh?"

"Good for what ails you."

Blair felt the alcohol rush into his system; he really drank very little, and usually only beer or wine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had hard liquor. "My Aunt Dot used to drink martinis," he reminisced. "I only saw her a few times. I don't think she was a real aunt, but a friend of my mom's family. She was very --" But how to describe Dot? "She was unique," he finally mumbled, aware of the inadequacy of his words.

"Unique how?"

He shrugged, and sipped his coffee. "Always dressed up. Mom is very, um, casual in her dress. Lots of caftans and floaty things. Aunt Dot wore shiny stockings and chunky high heels. Suits with floppy ties. She was a nice lady." He remembered her letting him sip from her martinis and puff from her Kents when he was a little boy, hiding the behavior from Naomi, of course. Her hoarse voice. Her short, thick, blunt-cut hair, iron gray, with big pearl-and-gold earrings weighing down her earlobes.

"You have good memories of her."

"Yeah." He straightened up. "I feel bad that I haven't thought of her in so long. I don't even know if she's still alive. Probably not."

Carolyn lifted the martini glass in a toast, and he raised his coffee mug. "To lost friends," she said, and they clinked the drinks together.

"To lost friends," he repeated.

"So," Carolyn said, an odd look in her eye, "how do you guys have sex?" He stared at her sternly, willing her not to go there, but the martini and whatever emotions she was caught up in had her now. "Come on, Blair. I'll tell you what we did." She leaned forward across the table. "He loved to feel me up in public."

Blair was moderately shocked at this, and that must've shown on his face. He could feel his eyes widen.

"You know, I bet he does you, too. Nothing too blatant. Just squeeze my breast, pat my ass. He used to ask me not to wear panties under my dresses sometimes when we'd go out to dinner." She smiled fondly. "He could be randy in taxi cabs and elevators, you know?"

Oddly enough, Blair did know. How many times had Jim pushed him against an elevator wall and rubbed up against him, kissing him until his lips felt swollen and wet?

"Come on, Blair. Tell me. He ever do you in public?"

Their desserts arrived just then, saving him from answering. But he felt the same mischief in him that Carolyn had, as if he'd imbibed it along with the vodka, or maybe the fumes were infectious. When the waitress left them with their desserts, he nodded, blushing. "In the men's room at a golf course."

"No shit." Carolyn looked impressed. "He fucked you on the golf course? Not the one William plays?"

"No, jeeze, Carolyn. The public one. We were practicing for a tournament the PD was having. It was a hot day and I took off my shirt. He hustled me into the men's room. But nobody was there, the course was almost empty, so it wasn't really, uh, dangerous."

"Still. Pretty impressive. Did he fuck you or blow you?"

"Carolyn! Jesus. Eat your dessert, okay?"

"He had me blow him once at a movie. Uh, Dressed to Kill, I think. Before it got violent and scary. That would've freaked me out, if he'd gotten hard during the scary parts."

Blair stared at Carolyn, trying to picture her head bobbing in Jim's lap in a darkened theatre.

"Come on, Blair. I told you; you tell me. It's only fair," she said rather primly, making Blair laugh.

"Oh, hell, Carolyn. It's not like you're gonna repeat this conversation to Jim, right?"

"I won't if you won't."

"Do I look like I have a death wish?" She gestured at him with her spoon. "Okay, okay. I, uh," he cleared his throat and whispered, "I fucked him."

She sat up as if she'd been shot. "He lets you --" Blair dropped his spoon and grabbed her hand before she could say more.

"Shh!" he practically spit at her. "Keep it down, for god's sake."

"Well, I better since he can't," she said, and they started to laugh. "No, seriously, he lets you fuck him?" she whispered, obviously surprised.

He was a little offended. "Well, yes. Why not? Too girly?"

"No, uh, no. It's just . . ." She stared down at her chocolate, idly pressing the spoon into the drizzled pattern of milk chocolate on its top. "I don't know, Blair. He was always the, uh, dominant one with me. I mean, I enjoyed it, you know. He'd kinda flip me around in bed, do me this way, then that. I just have a hard time, uh, imagining him, well, being done. I guess." She looked up at Blair. "I think you just gave me a clue about what went wrong with our marriage."

Blair shook his head helplessly, wishing he'd never bumped into Carolyn, never agreed to have lunch with her. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. You can give him what I couldn't. He needed someone to take charge, Blair. I saw that even when I worked at the PD. I was a little jealous, the way you just took hold of his life." She began eating her dessert as if it were a work assignment. Blair sighed, and took a bite of tiramisu. It really wasn't very good tiramisu; he wished he were in Athens, eating some in a little taverna. Preferably with Jim.

Finally she said, "I'm sorry, Blair. I shouldn't have asked. It really isn't my business. And I'm glad for you guys, honestly. Jim deserves to be happy, and I was genuinely sorry I couldn't make him happy. Couldn't give him what he needed.

"And really, you have made me feel better. I can stop kicking myself, pretending that if I'd just tried harder or stuck it out a little longer, things might've worked out. They never would've, would they."

He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't think so, Carolyn. I don't think it's you at all. Jim is just -- just really special."

She smiled at him. "And so are you." He shrugged, blushing again, but not bothering to deny it. He was special, in the sense that he somehow knew what Jim needed, without knowing how he knew. He knew that Jim needed a firm hand, that he wouldn't respect being deferred to, that he needed someone to push against, and he knew that he was strong enough and firm enough that Jim could push from now until Doomsday but not push him around. And that Carolyn, no matter how much she loved Jim, couldn't.

"Who knows about you two?"

"Well, Simon," he said sourly, but she jiggled her spoon at him again. "Steven. I'm pretty sure his dad knows, but it's sort of don't ask-don't tell, you know? My mom," and he smiled here. "A couple detectives at work, I think. Megan Connor came after you left, but she's really good at, um, seeing what others don't." Now there's an understatement, he thought, smiling at how quickly Megan recognized Jim's abilities, and his and Jim's relationship. "And you remember Joel Taggart? I'd bet money he knows, but he's never said anything. The others --" he shrugged. "Maybe. But we're discreet."

He set his spoon down; the tiramisu wasn't worth eating. Carolyn cut a big chunk of her chocolate decadence and slid it onto his plate. "Try this; it isn't bad."

"Are you okay, really, Carolyn?"

Something in his voice must've caught her attention. She put down an uneaten bite of the cake and thought. "I'm okay," she admitted. "But I'm a little sad. I guess I'm trying to come to terms with being alone. For years I kept hoping I'd meet someone. I dated a lot, but only two or three times. Then either they'd get tired of me or I'd get tired of them. I've never met anybody who was worth the effort of a relationship."

He nodded. He'd been one to fall in love easily and then fall right out. No staying power, one of his girlfriends had told him. Great in the sack, great on a date, but terrible at the boring things, like being there when they went to the doctor, or visiting their parents, or just sitting quietly reading together.

But somehow with Jim that had vanished. He wanted to be with Jim, in waiting rooms and at family dinners and sitting in the car on interminable stakeouts. One time, after an especially passionate evening of lovemaking, when they'd lain curled in their big bed, frankly cuddling each other in the light of a flickering apple-scented candle, Jim had shyly suggested that they were soul mates.

Blair was uncomfortable with the notion; he thought it sounded, well, girly, he remembered, studying Carolyn's tired face in the harsh fluorescent light of the airport restaurant. He had been a little embarrassed that Jim had mentioned it. But he'd kissed Jim's face and stroked his neck and shoulders, saying, "I love you" in both words and gestures, and Jim had never mentioned it again.

But now, listening to Carolyn reminisce about her and Jim's failed marriage, he wondered. Why did some couples make it and others not? Could Carolyn have tried harder? Would trying harder have made a difference? Could he have tried harder with the various women he had briefly paired off with over the years?

A feeling of repugnance washed through him. No, he protested, no. Jim needed to go through Carolyn to get to him. And he needed to go through the others to get to Jim. Those experiences made them who they were, had shaped each other the way wind and rain shape mountains, revealing their structure and strata and artifacts left by others.

"I'm sorry, Carolyn," he finally said, and she nodded.

"It's okay. I'm just glad Jim found someone as nice as you. I did love him, you know. Still do, in a way."

"I know. And he still loves you, in a way. He doesn't talk about you a lot, but always with affection and respect."

She smiled, obviously pleased by this. "Thank you." She finished her martini and stood. "My turn to check the flights."

She returned shaking her head. "Still delayed. Jesus. I shouldn't have had anything to drink; I'm going to want to go to sleep now."

"I'll wake you," he jokingly promised, and they gathered their possessions, splitting the bill and arguing over the tip for the waitress. Then they went back out into the busy airport, staring at the overhead monitors. "Gate 81," he read.

"Gate 72." They looked at each other. He gently placed his computer down, leaning it against his shins, and dropped the duffel, then stood and held out his arms. She smiled and stepped into his embrace.

The stood in the airport for a few seconds more, just holding on to each other. Then she sniffed and stepped back.

"You're a better husband to Jim than I ever was a wife," she said, smiling crookedly.

"Am I his husband?" Blair wondered, and she shyly touched his face.

"I think so." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Good bye, Blair."

"Bye, Caro. Have a safe flight. Don't fall asleep and miss it."

"I just hope I *have* a flight," she responded tartly, but smiled and gave a little wave before wheeling off toward Gate 72. He watched her trim figure weave through the crowds, rubbing the back of his neck.

Then he picked up his bags and headed toward Gate 81 and a phone. He needed to let Jim know his flight was still delayed.


End file.
